"That's it," he said gaily, "that's it. Of course, you've such heaps of the stuff at Blenkalle. But my boy's collection has to be gathered now." Holbrook's pure wines gained many orders in his own house. He had stored away, kept for customers with palates, a few casks of port which was not branded and flavoured for the English taste, some good hock and claret. But the pure wines he made his millions off did not deserve their title. Esmé, sipping Turkish coffee, saw Sybil Chauntsey come hurrying to her mother. The girl was fresh and sweet, heads turned as she passed. "Oh, Mumsie, Captain Gore Helmsley has telephoned. Oh, Mumsie, they've asked me to the Bellews for Saturday to Monday. Oh, may I go?" "But alone, Sybil," said her mother. "Mrs Carteret will take me. I'll ask her. Oh, Mumsie. Prince Fritz of Grosse Holbein will be there, and Madame Navotsky, Lord Ralph Crellton, Lady Deverelle. Mumsie, I might be asked to Deverelle if I meet her." Princes, countesses, dancers. Might not Sybil attract the attention of Lord Ralph, who would one day be a Marquis. "But, aren't there stories?" Mrs Chauntsey wavered. Jimmie strolled across. "Mrs Bellew is so anxious for your daughter to go to her," he said. "It's rather an honour, they are generally full up, and there's a dance this time." He omitted to remark that his reply down the telephone had been: "Who? I don't know the brat. Oh, send her along; I'll invite. Suppose you'd sulk and wouldn't manage the cotillon if I refused. Can't you let girls alone, Jimmie? Yes, I've got the address--I'll invite--bother her!" Mrs Chauntsey wavered, gave way, turned to a stout lady who was anxiously waiting for the brougham she still clung to, and told her. "I wouldn't let my girls walk past the garden wall," said Lady Adderley, grimly. "Sybil's a child, too." Mrs Chauntsey grew doubtful again. This stout and dowdy woman held the keys of the dullest and most exclusive houses. And Sybil had once been asked to luncheon there on Sunday; but a Prince, and a future Marquis--one must give a girl her chance. Esmé was going on to a tea-party. She sat down by the open window, looking out at the Park, a dull place now, its afternoon hour not yet upon it. "Rather full here." Jimmie Gore Helmsley's dark face appeared close to her; he pulled up a chair and sat down. "Feel as if we're all Aunt Sallies being pelted with gold; the riches jump out and hit you in the face." "He's kind," said Esmé, remembering her hock. "Kind? Oh, yes! he can be! Appreciate," he muttered, "what I've done coming here--to meet you, eh? I've talked to Lady Susan and Lady Hebe Ploddy for ten minutes, and I've only just escaped from the horns of Lady Hebe's jersey cattle. They have been going out for ten years," said Jimmie, "and Mamma, her grace, still calls them 'my baby girls.' They are coming this way," he added, "with the pigs and cows in the leash of their minds. Are you off it--hipped?" he whispered softly, "you look pale."